


Never to Know

by rprambles



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Horror, Humor, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rprambles/pseuds/rprambles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The backstory of Commander Hira Shepard. Some prompted, some spontaneous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Challenge

She’s learning how to read. She’s not very good at it yet, but her parents said that she just needs practice, so that’s what she does. It helps that there are words everywhere, in big letters so they’re easier to read. Except for the words under the shiny handle on the wall, there’s only one word there she can read. PULL.

She’s proud of herself for reading that one, since it’s smaller than most of the words in the classroom. But then she starts to wonder, why pull? Is the handle for pulling?

What does it do when you pull it?

The next time the teacher calls for a break, she scurries over to the handle instead of joining the other kids in a scramble for toys. Her mouth turns downwards in a pout when she finds that even on her tiptoes and reaching as far as her arm can go, she just can’t reach. Rocking back onto her heels, she pins the handle with a mean face and looks for something to help her reach it. Yes, that chair, that will help. She puts the chair right up against the wall and clambers onto it, beaming when she finds the handle is at the perfect height for pulling.

“Hira? Hira, sweetie, no-“

She takes the handle in both hands and gives it a hearty pull. Instantly the hallway outside erupts with noise and she grins. So that’s what it does.


	2. Prompt - Partisan

“Daddy?”

Max looked down at her. “Hmm?”

Hira was frowning, her nose scrunched up as she blinked quizzically. “Why was that man so mean?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, considering how best to explain to his innocent little girl that people were flawed. And the man they’d just seen harassing a poor asari clerk was particularly flawed and hateful for no true reason.

“Because he doesn’t understand,” Max finally answered

“So why doesn’t he ask? The lady could’ve explained it to him.”

He couldn’t help smiling at that. “Not quite what I was meaning.”

Hira pouted. “Now I don’t understand.”

Chuckling, Max picked her up and set her atop the counter nearby so they could speak at eye-level. Again he paused to think over his words. “Anahira, there are some people in this galaxy who hate others or are afraid of others simply because they are different. They don’t understand the difference, and so they fear it.”

“That’s dumb,” she announced firmly.

“Oh, I agree. Because we are all different, we are all alien to each other. You are alien to me,” he pointed out, cupping her face gently as he spoke, “as I don’t know what it’s like to be an adorable little girl. And I am alien to you, as you don’t know what it’s like to be a grumpy old man.” Max pulled a face and she giggled in delight.

“We are all different. That’s not something to be afraid of, it’s something to cherish. Everyone experiences the universe differently. So we all have something unique to share. Do you understand now?”

Hira nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He picked her up once again, intending to set her down and continue with their walk. Before he could, she latched onto him tightly. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”


	3. Fleeting

It’s not often that her parents are both present. She understands why; a pilot and an Alliance officer are busy jobs that need a lot of traveling. But those handful of days in a month where it’s all three of them feel different, something treasured, almost perfect.

It’s better when it happens on a weekend, when she doesn’t have school. They can spend the entire day together, playing games or drawing or watching movies. Once or twice she gets too excited, but they never seem to mind. There’s a joy in those hours that binds all three of them together that she’s pretty sure is the feeling people mean when they talk about family.

She wonders if it’s temporary for other families too.

That night she’s nestled deep inside the blankets on her bed, perfectly still, too much so to be asleep. She watches the door and listens, counting the silent moments. She holds her breath at sixty, waiting and watching, dreading. 

Seventy and the voices start, muffled by the walls between her and them, but she can tell the tone. Bitter, sharp, angry. She sinks further into the covers and closes her eyes tight. She wishes they’d stop fighting. She wants to walk out there and make them stop, make them go back to that joy of the day. Maybe if she were bigger they’d listen. But she’s just twelve.

The arguing gets louder and she buries her head under the pillow.


	4. Prompt: Hate

Max tried to calm his nerves as he sat down at the terminal. More than once he’d considered leaving the queue, calls always made him nervous. But he’d stayed put. He had to give it one last try.

The line buzzed a few times, then a familiar voice spoke. " _Shepard residence, Sergeant Hoffman speaking._ ”

"Hey, Sam, it’s Max."

“ _Hey Max! Good to hear from you. Calling for Hira, right?_ ”

"That’s right."

“ _I’ll get her. Hang on a sec._ ”

He dreaded this part, waiting through absolute silence in hopes she’d want to talk to him this time. She was angry at him, he knew, but if they could talk about it, work it out…

A scuffling noise on the line. Max sat up, holding his breath.

“ _She said no. Sorry, Max._ ”

His heart dropped like a stone. “It’s alright. I understand."

The line beeped softly as he hung up and he trudged away, head bowed. A dozen calls, each the same as the last. Had he really expected anything else? He’d left, hadn’t stopped to help her understand why, he’d just packed his bags and walked out the door. He didn’t blame her for hating him now, not one bit.

"Time to take the hint, you bloody fool," he muttered softly. No more calls. He’d respect his daughter’s wishes and let her be.


	5. Prompt: Brontide

The noise woke her up, a constant sizzling patter that droned out the soft snores around her. She got up on her elbows and looked around the dark barracks. Her fellows still slumbered, oblivious to the world.

She reached over to the neighboring bunk and shook the occupant gently. “Rake?”

He grumbled softly and cracked one eye open. “Hir?”

"What is that noise?"

"Huh?" Billy raised his head a fraction, then he settled back into the bunk. "S’rain. Go back t’sleep."

Rain. She sat up fully, keying open the window shutter just enough to see outside. Water ran in rivulets down the glass; the compound beyond was soaked, puddles gathering in places, surfaces rippling.

A gentle rumble made her jump and she looked up at the dark sky, body tense. “And that?”

"S’thunder," Billy yawned.

Rain and thunder. She stayed at the window, mesmerized by the storm. How did it work? She tried in vain to remember what little of her classes she’d attended. None of it had covered the weather to her recollection.

She tapped open her omnitool, planning an extranet search, when a crack like a rifle went off and light burst outside. She jumped with a yelp and tumbled onto the floor.

A sleepy chuckle drew her attention to Billy, smirking down at her. “This your first time?”

Hira stared at him for a moment, then grabbed her pillow and threw it at him.


	6. Prompt: One, Two, Three, BANG

Hira leaned against the rafter, rifle tucked neatly against her shoulder. The combat below was scattered, pops of fire going off briefly then settling down as it started across the field. Essentially it was a free-for-all, though she could see some of the soldiers had grouped together to make informal strike teams. She scoped one of these teams, targeting the apparent leader, and squeezed the trigger.

Bright yellow splattered across his chest. Hira moved to a new target.

The soldiers below were members of her battalion, all of them fairly good at their jobs. So she found it amusing that when it was a paintball fight no one else seemed to look at the line of old warehouses and think it would make an excellent sniper spot.

She didn’t focus on one area for long, scoping one target at the far end of the field and then one not ten yards from her position. After dropping ten targets, she moved to the furthest warehouse and started again. She’d taken one shot when she heard a soft whistle from somewhere below.

Billy Rake waved cheerfully when she looked down at him. “Need a spotter?”

She considered him for a moment. She did fairly well on her own, and preferred it that way. But a second man would open up a few possibilities. There was the chance he would shoot her when her guard was down, however. This was a free-for-all.

_No. Billy’s better than that._

“C’mon up.”

Billy grinned and clambered up to sit beside her. “It’s too bad they wouldn’t let me bring my turret.”

“Does your turret shoot paintballs?”

“I could make it shoot paintballs.”

Hira smirked and sighted in a target. “That I’d like to see.”

Four targets later Billy tapped her shoulder. “Should move, that group’s headed this way.”

Hira led him to the middle of the warehouse row, where she settled at the window and he watched the stairs. After five targets Billy began dropping his own and a steady drum of fire began, pausing only briefly as soldiers reloaded.

The stream of targets slowed as the ammo began to run out. Hira stretched her legs briefly and noted the sun had shifted.

Billy passed her a canteen. “I’m going to grab some ammo while it’s quiet.”

Hira nodded and drank her fill, glancing out the window to admire her work. A pop drew her attention to the stairwell and she waited a moment before approaching, rifle raised. “Billy?”

Footsteps echoed up and she tucked herself against the wall, scenarios running through her head. The most likely: Billy had been tagged and the soldier or team was now coming up to clear the area. Close-quarters wasn’t her best area, but she wouldn’t make it easy for them.

Billy entered with a sheepish smile. “At ease, Hir. Game’s over.”

Hira frowned as she straightened, and then had to bite her tongue hard. Their lieutenant stood in the doorway, a splotch of yellow paint across his front.


	7. Prompt - "Trust me, it'll work."

“That’s what you said last time, Billy.”

“I fixed the problem, though. It won’t blow up this time.”

“You want me to get Mace to defuse it? Just in case?”

“Hir. Trust me.”

She fell silent at that and Billy fired up the turret. It whirred to life, gun house slowly rotating to survey the area.

Billy beamed triumphantly. “See?”

No sooner had he spoken than the rotation came to a halt. The machine’s gears persisted against the jam, making a sharp _click-click-click_ and jerking the gun house back and forth; Hira grabbed Billy by the collar and dragged him to a safe distance. Finally the gears prevailed with a _cli-chunk_ and the gun house twirled about like a top before flying off and up, leaving a large dent in the ceiling.

“You’re right,” Hira observed. “Didn’t blow up this time.”

Billy dropped his head into his hands.


	8. Prompt - Heart

“Isn’t love grand, Hir?”

She shrugged, barely glancing at the happy families milling past the two soldiers on leave. “Don’t believe in love.”

Billy look at her like a child who’d been told Christmas was canceled. “What?!”

“You heard me.”

He stumbled over his tongue, as he always did when he got upset. “Tha-that is, that’s just…that’s awful! Love is the greatest thing in the universe!”

“Is not.”

“Yes it is, why do you think there are so many songs about it?” Billy pulled on a winsome smile and belted out, “All you need is love!~”

She rolled her eyes, unable to wipe the smirk from her face. “Billy, what did that poor song ever do to you?”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “You like my singing, admit it.”

“I’d rather listen to elcor recite poetry, thanks.”

Billy placed a hand on his chest as if she’d wounded him, smiling when she chuckled at him. “Love is wonderful, Hir,” he insisted again.

“One man’s opinion.”

“Oh, be stubborn then.”

“That’s the plan.”

Billy grumbled good-naturedly and grabbed her in a headlock. “C’mere you little pain in the ass.”

Hira squirmed in his grasp, letting out a yelp when he rubbed his knuckles against her scalp. Finally she jerked away, grinning despite herself. “Pot, kettle, Billy.”

“You love me,” Billy declared airily.

“Keep telling yourself that.”


	9. Prompt - Age 22

She returned from the shooting range to sounds of intense “discussion” from the group of Marines gathered in the mess. “Children, do I need to send you to your rooms?” she asked as she passed them to store her gear.

Billy lit up. “Hir! C’mere, I need your help judging.”

She arched a brow at him, setting her rifle into its slot. “Judging what?”

“Pick-up lines.” He jerked a thumb toward the gang with a smirk. “They think they’re smooth stuff.”

Her frown spoke volumes on her opinion of this idea. “I’m not exactly a typical person.”

“None of us are!”

She looked at the four Marines, all of them with semi-pleading expressions, and sighed. “Alright.”

The ‘judging’ went on for about an hour as the boys ran through all the lines they knew. Some weren’t too bad, though Mace’s one suggestion was met with a stern “Mace, you lost your speaking privileges”.

“Alright, this one.” Trench held out his hand and smiled brightly. “Hello, miss. Would you hold this for me while I go for a walk?”

Billy snorted, while Hira simply raised a brow.

“Ah, come on. That’s how I introduced myself to my wife.”

“Wonders never cease.”

“Okay, I’ve got one,” Luigi announced. “You’re so beautiful that you made me forget my pickup line.”

Hira shrugged. “Not bad.”

Luigi scoffed. “Not bad, she says.”

“You just have to look at everything she says through rose-colored glasses,” Billy advised.

“Which is easy for you, Billy,” Hira observed; Billy flashed a grin.

Mace, still obeying the order of silence, typed out something on his omnitool and showed it to Hira.

“Give me that.”

Billy laughed as Mace hung his head and relinquished the device. “Kay, I know I’m not in the running, but I’ve got one. ‘I’ve noticed you noticing me and I’m just giving you notice that I’ve noticed you.’”

Hira frowned for a moment, her mind working through the odd wording. “Cute,” she finally decided.

“Thank you, I do try.”

Chekov nudged Billy aside. “Excuse me, miss, would you like to travel the galaxy and kill people with me?”

A smirk spread across Hira’s face. “I like that one.”

“I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather survive a zombie apocalypse with.”

“He’s winning,” she announced, a decision that the team protested loudly.


	10. Prompt - Fairytale

“Hey, Chekov.”

The veteran of the team looked up from his book at the five marines camped out in the main room, waiting for either the heater to fire back up or for sleep to hit them. “What?”

“Tell us a story,” Mace pleaded.

“Oh yes, Dad, tell us a story.”

“Shut up, Luigi. Why the hell should I?”

“Because they won’t shut up until you do,” Hira pointed out.

Chekov tossed a pillow at her, which she returned. “Ask Trench, he needs the practice.”

The biotic in question heaved a mock-sigh and sat up. “Alright, kids. What story do you want?”

“How about Goldilocks?” No sooner had Billy spoken than he received a sharp thwack to the head.

“Pick a different one,” Hira instructed, setting her pillow back down on the cot.

“You don’t like Goldilocks?”

“It’s about a girl who commits breaking and entering and vandalism. What’s to like?”

“Hir has a point,” Chekov agreed.

“Alright, smartass.” Luigi turned to face her. “You tell a story.”

“Fine. Once upon a time there were these four marines-“

A sudden barrage of pillows forced Hira to duck underneath her cot for protection.


	11. Lessons

“Hir.” Chekov tapped the controls of the Mako. “Take the wheel.”

She blinked as the interface slid across the cab to her side, Chekov climbing into the turret seat. “Ah. Yes boss.”

Okay, driving couldn’t possibly be that hard if he expected her to know how. She just had to figure out which button did what. Which did Chekov use for going forward…

She touched a green symbol and the vehicle sped up. She’d found forward.

“Hir, sharp right!”

Turn right. She swiped her hand across the thing that looked like a scroll bar and was abruptly jolted into her seatbelt as the Mako veered sharply to the right.

Another panel had flickered to life. Ah, virtual window. That was helpful.

“A little too sharp, Hir.”

She didn’t look up. “With respect, boss, shut up and shoot.” A slight gasping yelp cut off his laughter as she sped up, the Mako practically bouncing along the land. Chekov did his best to clear the path of larger targets, enemy footsoldiers either leapt out of the way or chewed underneath the Mako’s treads.

And then a new obstacle appeared - blast doors. Chekov fired multiple rockets that left only charmarks on the metal. “Damn, we are not getting through that.”

Hira didn’t answer, eyeing the blue panel. Didn’t the Mako have jets?

“Hir. Hir, stop. Stop the damn Mako. HIRA!”

She slammed her fist on the panel. The blast doors disappeared beneath them as the Mako sailed into the air and a fluttering sensation settled in her stomach as they reached the arc’s peak. She was vaguely aware of Chekov cursing.

And then the Mako came down like a rock, bouncing them in their seats.

“Holy shit!” Chekov laughed, climbing down from the turret seat. “Where the hell did you learn to drive?”

“Two minutes ago,” Hira answered.

Chekov stared at her and stole the controls.

“Hey.”


	12. Happy Birthday

When she asked the boys not to make a big deal out of her birthday, Mace looked stricken. “But it’s your birthday!”

“And you’ll be 24,” Trench points out. “That’s an important number!”

“It is not,” she argues

“Is too. Comes right before 25.”

She snorts at that and waves them away.

They of course make a big deal of it, and the sight of all five of them in their dress blues line-dancing to the most nonsensical song she’d ever heard is one she will never forget – or let them live down.

Later there is cake - how Luigi got his hands on butter-cream frosting, he refuses to share - and presents. The rifle mod she’d had her eye on, a new cigarette lighter since she’d lost hers, a gift credit chit for that Chinese place she loves; and a box from her mother that surprisingly arrived on time. The contents of said box, however, make Hira drop her head into her hands.

Billy swallows his mouthful of cake. “What is it, Hir?”

Wordlessly she hands it over to him and he dutifully reads the card. “I did my best, but there simply will never be one as cute as you. Love you sweet-pea, Mom.” How he manages to keep a straight face when the rest of the team snickers into their plates, Hira’s not sure, but whatever his trick is doesn’t work when he pulls a fluffy brown teddy bear from the box.

“That’s adorable,” Chekov announces, grinning from ear to ear.

Hira snatches the bear from Billy’s hands. “Least I have a new target to practice on.”

Billy snatches it right back, absolutely horrified that she would suggest such a thing. The argument is short-lived due to Hira collapsing in laughter when Billy sets the bear upon the mantle and announces that it is now enshrined for life and no one is to touch it.


	13. Hindsight

When Billy entered the barracks, Hira was already in her cot, fiddling with her omnitool; if she noticed him she didn’t say anything, and so Billy didn’t say anything either. Sitting down on the neighboring cot, he kicked off his boots and laid back.

A hiss escaped him as a twinge of pain traveled through the wound in his shoulder and then Hira spoke, her voice stern. “Should be more careful.”

Billy smiled and slowly settled into the cot. “I’m alright.”

“Should listen to Trench.”

He pitched his voice in a poor imitation of Trench’s accent. “If you’re fond of your brains at all you’ll keep your damn head down!” A smirk flickered across her face and Billy grinned. “See? You don’t need to worry ‘bout me. You, though.” He reached over and poked her shoulder. “Miss-let’s-run-into-fire’.”

Hira absently swatted his hand away. “If you hadn’t gotten your ass shot, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“I see how it is.” He chuckled and shifted a little; she tapped away at her omnitool. 

For a moment he figured the conversation was over, and then she shut the device down and frowned up at the ceiling. “You remember when we met?”

“When you picked me up out of the dirt two years ago?”

She smirked. “Because some colonists had taken offense to your face.”

“Can you blame ‘em? A face this pretty?”

Her hand flew out and smacked him in the side, but she was laughing. “Couldn’t get rid of you after that.”

Billy grinned and shook his head. “Nope.”

She looked at him now, a soft smile on her face. “I’m glad.”

He picked up her hand, lacing his fingers between hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Me too.”


	14. Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mild Gore

The shuttle rumbles softly as it enters atmo, empty webseats clattering softly. None of the passengers seem to notice. Their banter and jibes had mellowed out and they now sat in silence, expressions ranging from peaceful to bored.

Understandable, it’s hardly their most difficult mission: infiltrate the batarian-controlled Alliance bunker and clear it out. They have clear blueprints to the compound, and only a token force of batarians taking up residence. The only true concern is that batarians were fierce combatants.

But that’s why Command called Bravo Team.

—

_“Hir, you’re leading on this one.”_

She remembers the first time Chekov had told her that, the brief surprise in the entire team. No one had argued, however, and she’d proved adept at leading. After the first time, Chekov had gradually given her the reins more and more until there is no surprise at the words.

It’s like a challenge, and she’s always had a problem with refusing challenges. Only this is different. Instead of someone saying she couldn’t, Chekov said she could, and he wanted to see her do it. It was empowering in a way.

She smirks a little at the memory of other “challenges”. If you don’t shape up and fly right. You need to lose that attitude. You’ll never amount to anything. Shows what they knew. She’s an Alliance Marine, on her way to N7, a member of the best team in the corps.

Hira opens her eyes and looks around with a faint smile. She has a family. A home.

“Coming up on the LZ.”

—

They take the back door. Move in and shoot the guards before they realize what’s happening, Trench announces the room clear. Billy sets up a turret at the doorway just in case and Hira orders them further in.

They’ve done many jobs like this, enough that it’s almost routine. Head down the hall in formation. Stop at every door. Bust in. If there’s a target, shoot. When the room is clear, file out and continue down the hall.

Smooth and clean, surgical even. As it should be.

—

The first red flag is a left turn.

There is no left turn on the blueprints. There is no right turn. It’s a straight hallway. Billy double-checks the coordinates.

“Why the hell doesn’t the Alliance have a decent map of their own damn bunker?” Chekov demands in a harsh whisper. Hira silences him with a glare, but the damage is done. They’re all tense now, shifting nervously. And she doesn’t blame them. This mission reeks of wrong.

She pushes it out of her mind. Wrong or not, they’re here for a reason. Get in, do the job, and go home.

“Stay focused,” she orders, waiting until she receives five nods in answer before moving on.

—

The second red flag comes too late.

It should have been a small room, enough for three targets at most. They take position at the doorway and Hira gives the signal to move in.

The door falls and they’re blinded. She barks for them to get down, switch off the night vision. Gunfire echoes in her ears as she blinks the spots out of her FOV, sees the room ahead. She doesn’t have time to count targets, but it’s more than three.

The team recovers from the surprise, but the exchange still takes too long for comfort. Luigi has a panicked look on his face as Trench ties a bandage around his arm. “This is so not right.”

“Breathe, Luigi,” Hira orders, keeping her tone casual. She knows they’ll see it as a comfort, that the mission isn’t falling apart. Seven targets, on top of the eight they’ve already encountered. A map that’s useless. No means to call to base. This is going to be hell.

And then footfalls echo in the hallway and she orders them to cover once again. Get in, get the job done, go home.

She will get them home.

—

Mace lobs a grenade into the doorway just as the targets appear, and then screams a warning as one comes flying at them. Hira scrambles away from the metal ball as it bounces across the floor.

Tink. Tink. Bang.

The shockwave knocks her flat on her back, the dual explosions sending a ringing through her head. She rolls over with a groan and tries to shake it off, wincing at the sound of gunfire. _Where’s my gun?_

A boot slams into her gut, flipping her over. Three targets, armed and grinning. She scrambles back, her hand grasping for a weapon, anything. She grips something solid and conical as one target grasps her arm and she lashes out.

The knife slides through cloth and flesh like water. The target screams for the three seconds it takes for her to leap up and slice his throat. Her shields take the bursts of gunfire from the other two, and they fall just as easily.

—

She’s lost track of time, of targets, she barely knows where she is. What she does know is there is no stopping. Not until the targets stop, or she’s dead.

And she doesn’t plan to die anytime soon.

Some targets come with rifles, others with knives like the one in her hand. Gunfire and screams echo off the walls as she cuts her way through. Some are quick, a cut to the jugular, turning their own rifle against them. Others insist on being stubborn, multiple lacerations, empty the clip, one she has to smash open against the wall.

She’s thrown to the ground more than once, kicked and battered. She doesn’t know how much of the blood she sees is hers. They encircle her, push her back and forth like a plaything. She cuts off their hands.

She will not die here.

—

The silence comes as a surprise. It feels surreal, after so much noise for so long, that now all she can hear is her own shallow breaths. She’s vaguely aware of a throbbing ache in her head, a peculiar warm wet feeling on her hands, but she doesn’t know whether it should concern her. She can’t think through the deafening quiet.

A muffled rumble drifts in, as if trying to break through the fog. It echoes, louder each time, until something grasps her roughly, the rumble suddenly a voice, loud and demanding. “Chief!”

She staggers and blinks, flinching at the motions. She’s sore all over and there’s something in her right eye, clouding her vision. But she sees the soldier standing there with her. She doesn’t know him.

“What happened here,” he asks.

She looks around the room dumbly, at the bodies littering the floor and the blood spattered on the walls. Her brow furrows and she winces when a spike of pain flickers through her head, as if the expression had pulled at her skin. Here. Where is here?

She looks at her hands, surprised when she barely recognizes them. They’re stained dark red, and she still has a firm grip on the knife, blade dripping blood. She slowly forces her fingers to release and it clatters on the floor.

It’s then that she remembers. _Here is Torfan. We were sent to clear the bunker. We were sent…we…_

“My team.”

Her voice is little more than a hoarse whisper, and she doesn’t know why, but that doesn’t matter. Panicked adrenaline surges through her, battling off the exhaustion. Her team is here somewhere. Her family. She needs to find them.

She’s taken two steps when the words hit her. She knows what they are, understands the finality of the soldier’s tone, but the meaning is lost on her, and she turns to frown at him. “What?”

He repeats the words, a little louder, a little clearer, but they still mean nothing. They’re only words.

When she continues to stare at him in bewilderment, he steps closer and she thinks she sees pity in his gaze. He says the words a third time, and the meaning finally registers.

“The rest of Bravo Team is dead.”

She can’t breathe. She feels like stone, a bloodstained statue that can only stare in horror. He repeats his first question. What happened here?

She doesn’t have an answer.


	15. Six Feet from the Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicidal Thoughts

Lucky, the doctors call it. Call her.

_It cut to the bone. A harder fall and…_

_There was a lot of blood. Too much more and…_

_You’re lucky._

She rubs the wound through the bandage, ignoring the spike of pain. It’s long, traveling from brow across her nose and into her cheek. She could’ve lost an eye, cracked open her skull, bled out on the floor.

She’s lucky. She’s out of that pit with nothing more than a cut across her face. She’s alive when others aren’t.

Lucky.

She doesn’t believe in luck. It has no place in her logic of possible and certain. She thinks of it that way instead.

_I could have died. Possibility._

_I am alive. Certainty._

_They are dead. Certainty._

She balls her hands into fists, resists the urge to rip the bandage off and tear the cut open and let it bleed. Why does she deserve to live? What the hell makes her so damn special that she can go on living when the rest of Bravo is dead?

In the end she has to sit on her hands. Doctors and psychiatrists are watching for her to snap, they won’t let her go back to active duty until they’re certain her head’s in the right place. One of them is already talking about a medical discharge to go with the medal - _a medal, they’re giving me a damn medal_ \- and a medical discharge means civilian. Hell, if that happens she’ll put the bullet in her head herself.

 _Just put me back to work,_ she wants to tell them. _I’m good at that, and it might kill me. It’s a good plan._

She knows better than to say it. This is her plan, and hers alone. Be good and quiet, look like she’s recovering. Get back to work so she doesn’t have to sit here and remember the five soldiers who should be alive.

_I am alive. Certainty._

_I could still die._

_Possibility._


	16. Prompt - Age 29

She sits atop a stone in some forgotten corner of a colony world, her rifle lying beside her. The day’s target had been dealt with, and now she has little more to do than sit and wait for pick-up.

She’d been thrilled when the brass first assigned her to black ops. “The corps needs a sniper that can operate in a solo unit, without need for support even if things go sideways,” they’d said. The work would keep her busy and most likely kill her. It was almost too perfect and she’d thrown herself into it with more energy than she’d managed in months.

A year later had found her still alive. It hadn’t concerned her at the time; there was work to do, and she could easily die soon enough.

And then a year became two, and then three. Five years later, she’s still breathing.

It’s a bit of a surprise to her; perhaps more surprising is that she’s rather pleased by it. She’d thought this job would kill her, and it has come close a few times. And every time there is something inside her that simply refuses to die.

She’d pondered it between jobs for a while, what it could possibly be that won’t let her die. The memory of those she lost seems likely, except for the fact that the weight of her team gets a little lighter with every day. She discounts several other possibilities – fear of death, failure, so on – and finally comes to a simple conclusion.

It’s a challenge. She refuses to die out of sheer spite.

She lights a cigarette and looks up at the evening sky. The planet’s sun is fading, letting more and more stars appear in the blue-black ink. The sight of stars still makes her feel small in the awed sort of way, and Hira allows herself a small smile.


End file.
